Yesteryear
by K.R. Wilson
Summary: A year before the return of Serana and the arrival of the Dragonborn, Ronthil was a lowly wood elf on the verge of death who was spared by the kiss of Vampirism. However, immortal or no, new dangers lurk behind friendly faces as the fledgling is thrust into the cut-throat world of politics in the court of Castle Volkihar. M/M. Feran/Ronthil. Some Vingalmo/F!OC and Garan/F!OC.
1. What the Tides Brought Forth

**Author's Corner: Welcome, readers, to my Elder Scroll fan-fiction, Yesteryear. This is the story of Ronthil (Anyone remember Ronthil? That adorably meek vampire merchant in Castle Volkihar?) and my head-canon to his origins and his induction into the stormy life as member of Lord Harkon's court. **

**I thought he was an undeniably cute little vampire and his somewhat pathetic stature among the other vampires is absolutely endearing. (Ever since I found him sleeping behind a bookshelf while everyone else slept in a coffin, I've lovingly dubbed him 'Cinderella' as a joke. XD) He doesn't get enough love on this site, so I've decided to remedy that. **

**A word of warning: My mind could not help itself. I've slashed Ronthil with his master, Feran Sadri. (Why? 'Cause yaoi is fun!) I've also paired Vingalmo and Garan with some female OCs... A snotty Altmer woman named Esme and a Dunmer noblewoman named Arya, respectively. There will also be some steamy moments in this fiction, from sexualized feeding to objectizing degradation, and of course, male/male and male/female sex! I pray for your indulgence in all things and hope you enjoy this little brain-child of mine.**

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Chapter One: What the Tides Brought Forth

_Auriel… God of my people… Please, I beg you, end this pain._

Ronthil's body felt broken and cold; left to rot upon the rocky shore of a Divines-forsaken island after being torn to shreds by a barrage of Northwatch arrows before he was battered by the frozen waves of the tempestuous Sea of Ghosts.

His tree sap-colored eyes strained to force themselves open, but the entire left side of his face swollen shut. From all that he could see through his good eye, the world was monochromatic and lifeless: a blinding gray sky, cold black stone, and white crystalline flakes of snow falling all around. Was this Aetherius? He vaguely wondered. Or, perhaps this was some plane of Oblivion? Was he finally free from this world and its cares? Oh, how he wanted to believe this was so… However, the irrefutable pain that gripped his body in a paralyzing rigor proved that he was still bound to Nirn, to his mutilated husk.

Ronthil lied there, where the Gods had abandoned him, regretting that he ever picked the lock of his cell door… regretting that he ever thought he could escape Northwatch Keep in one piece… regretting that he ever believed he could see home or his family again.

With a faint groan, he forced his eye shut again and prayed over and over again for death to take him, and began to think that the Gods were ignoring his pleas… until he heard the sound of footfalls upon the pebbly shoreline approaching and halting just shy of him.

"Well, well, well… what have we here?" The stranger's voice was like the arrows embedded in the wood elf's back- expertly crafted and razor-honed. "What manner of creature has the tides brought to my shore?"

Again, Ronthil strained to open his eye and feebly craned his neck up to look up at the newcomer's face. At first glance, he appeared to be a Nord, but something was off… His eyes glowed with a burning intensity, the color of unworldly fire and twin savage points protruded from the man's wry smile.

Had the Gods finally answered his prayers? Was this bizarre creature the grim harbinger of his imminent demise?

The stranger noticed the boy opening his eye and barked a curt laugh. "Ah, so you are alive… Although I'd probably assume you don't have much longer," he chuckled a bit more before squatting down on his haunches to closely examine the mangled wood elf, lying in a pool of his own blood. "Well, if I were a gambling man… I'd wager you were a prisoner of that keep across the jetty… Oh, what in Oblivion inhabits that place now… some Altmer that call themselves the Dominion, am I correct?"

Ronthil could do little else but stare up at the man- or whatever he was- and wheeze in pain.

"And, I'd also safely bet you undertook the fool-hardy enterprise of jail-break… and upon nearing your escape from there, were shot full of these." He punctuated his sentence by gripping one of the arrow shafts protruding from the Bosmer's back and unceremoniously dislodged the tip from the puffy and pallid flesh with a jerking motion, smiling sadistically at the boy's agonized cry. "Rather nasty," the stranger mused, mostly to himself, as he studied the bloodied arrowhead.

The Nord sighed with what sounded like boredom before returning his attention to the half-dead wood elf before him. "Well, at any rate, if you keep like that in this cold, you'll either die of hypothermia or you'll simply bleed to death… Both are slow and rather painful ways to die, as am I sure you are realizing…"

Quickly tiring of the stranger's toying, the Bosmer simply stared at the man, silently conveying the command to either end his suffering or move along.

As if able to read his mind and hear his words as if they were uttered aloud, the man sneered at the impudent half-corpse. Wordlessly and deftly, he promptly shoved his two largest fingers into the boy's wound, made open by his earlier impromptu removal, and the elf trilled the most blood-curdling cry to ever echo over the violent waves of the northern seas.

Both of Ronthil's eyes shot open and widened in horrific pain. Temporarily released from his death-like rigor, the wood elf's body convulsed and his throat forced out a series of terrible, near-inhuman screams.

Even through the intervals of pleas and howls, the Nord kept his fingers planted in the wound, even beginning to twist them inside experimentally, driving them knuckle-deep in the injury and confining the boy in a world of unimaginable pain.

"AUUUUUGGGGGH!" His body curled in on itself, unsure of how much more torture he could bear.

"Now, if you are through being smart, may I continue?" the stranger glared impassively.

Ronthil gazed up at the man imploringly, silently praying that would be enough from him. He was wheezing heavily from his dry and abused throat, now forced to scream from his crude torture.

"I want an answer, worm!"

Another twist of the creature's fingers coaxed a yelped, "Y-YES!"

The stranger watched the boy's pained expression for a while longer, before accepting his surrender and pulling his digits from the toyed lesion. However, he was forceful as he pulled the Bosmer onto his side by his shoulder and looked at him in the face. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes…I'm sure you're realizing by now that you are going to die here, and it will not be easy… And, as much as I enjoy watching you lay there, bleeding out like stuck horker…I'm prepared to make you an offer…"

The way the stranger's voice trailed off left Ronthil feeling that there was some stipulation to his offer.

"I know a certain individual in my court that is desperately in need of an assistant who knows the outside world… His last one was eaten by some kind of beast or other…A son of Hircine." He knelt down and pulled Ronthil up into a sitting position, despite the other's groan of protest; bringing their faces so close together, the Bosmer could feel the man's hot breath puff against his face, like hot iron against his frozen skin. "Now, here's my offer: I can break your scrawny neck and put you out of your misery, or I can turn you into a vampire… and let you live here on this island in my court."

"… You… You're a vampire?" Even after he said it, Ronthil didn't have to think too hard to realize it was true. He had heard rumors from the guards posted outside his cell that blood-sucking monsters inhabited the abandoned castle across the sea in the distance. It wasn't too long into the stranger's musings that wood elf figured that he must've drifted from the keep to the shoreline of that said island and now was in the midst of the night-walkers.

"Exactly," the vampire grinned. "But, I am no ordinary vampire… I am Lord Harkon, the patriarch of the most ancient and powerful vampire-lines in all of Skyrim; perhaps all of Tamriel… I can grant you powers beyond anything you ever imagined. But, it would probably mean sacrificing everything you escaped that prison and nearly died for…What did you escape for, anyway? Your home? A loved one? Family…?" He trailed off to study the pain in the wood elf's eyes as he spelled out each and every possibility. "Perhaps all of the above?"

The Bosmer blinked dazedly, letting it all sink in…His face was impassive. He did not know whether to feel despaired or angry or even annoyed… All he could feel was lifelessness within him; as if it wasn't only his body broken, but his very soul…

"Regardless," the Nord sighed before continuing, "Once you've become a vampire, you can never again walk the path of mortals or in the path of the sun. You would no longer be able to return to your home without being shunned as a monster. Use this knowledge that I gave you, weigh it in your heart, and make your choice…But, I would hurry if I were you. Before long, your body will be beyond even my repair and then what good would your corpse do me, aside from a snack?"

His swollen, lavender-colored lips tremulously parted, initially unable to produce any sound before he uttered his reply, feeling the cold grip of death seize him at last. "Please… ah-I d…on't w-want to… die. I'll do… whatever y-you ask of me… Just please… Save me."

"Very well, boy," the vampire grinned predatorily before he bared his fangs and brought them close to the Bosmer's neck. A hotly puffed, "Hold still," sent shivers down the mutilated elf's back before he felt twin pricks pierce the flesh of his pale neck and bite down hard...

At first, burning agony was pumping into his veins, turning his flesh to fire before it was replaced with an unimaginable cool. All the warmth in his body was sapped from his being as if his blood was replaced with ice, though the truth of it was, it had stopped pumping all together. The painful numbness of death was replaced by the maddening torture of undeath.

As Ronthil wriggled and writhed on the frozen earth, his body reacting violently to the venom of vampirism coursing through him, the vampire stood upright, wiping his blood-smeared mouth with the back of his pale hand with a wicked glint in his hellish eyes. "Welcome to the family, dear boy…"

The wood elf's pulse drummed thunderously in his pointed-ears, despite his blood crystallizing to chilling ice, as his breath grew labored and strained. As if surrendering to his fate, the struggling boy allowed his head to lie still as he panted fearfully, his eyes staring up to the gray void of sky above him and the vampire as if waiting for it to take him from his pain. His visage became blindingly bright, then everything blurred… before it finally faded to darkness all together.

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Lord Harkon stood stoic as he watched the wood elf fall unconscious. He knew that the boy was not well and truly dead, but merely undergoing the greatest metamorphosis: his mortality had to die to walk the world as a scion of the night. Still, he closed his glowing amber eyes in silent regard to the lad, as if offering some form of respect to his former life.

"…So, this is to be my new assistant?" A voice called from behind the master vampire, drawing his attention. A Dunmer, bearing the same hellfire eyes as the Nord, approached the other's side to observe the wood elf. "…Forgive me for saying so, milord, but he doesn't look like much."

"He'll do for what is expected of him," Harkon replied sternly, before turning away and noticing two entranced thralls following the dark elf, their eyes wide in terror and their bodies rigid as stone. He sneered at the cattle before commanding, "Take the boy to the castle and find him a place to rest while he undergoes the change."

Fearfully, the thralls nodded as they obeyed, racing down the rocky shore to retrieve the wood elf's body and carry them up to the castle.

Feran glared at Harkon's back for a moment, feeling a twinge of annoyance, before heaving a sigh of resignation. "Very well… Perhaps this child will be of some use to me. I'll see to him as soon as he awakens. I only ask that he remains out of the court's politics entirely… Am I clear?"

Harkon glanced over his shoulder to his companion before he smirked. "I wouldn't expect anything less of you, Sadri," he shrugged before he walked along the bloody wash that stained his beach. It wasn't long before the Dunmeri vampire followed suit, silently following the rocky shore to the castle despite Feran's reservations on his new assistant.

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**A/N: Edited on September 23, 2013.**


	2. What Now Lies Within

**Author's Corner: I'm so honored MoonFlower04 reviewed! And, thanks so much for the faves and follows, everybody! **

**Welcome back to Yesteryear, and I hope you'll enjoy it! In this installment, Ronthil awakens to find he is a vampire, and meets the promiscuous Esme. (I like slutty harlots in my stories... Why? 'Cause they're fun to write. I hate 'em in real life, but in fiction, they're fun.) So, this chapter will get a bit steamy. Feeding turns me on... No idea why. (Fiance's been wondering why I've been trying to bite his neck lately... ^^') Anyways, please take heart and prepare for chapter two of this terrifying tale of our favorite little vampire, Ronthil!**

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Chapter Two: What Now Lies Within

When next he became aware of anything other than darkness, Ronthil first thought of how badly his neck hurt, especially where the vampire had bit him. His body was weak and soaked in sweat. He hissed a wince of pain as he opened his eyes and forced himself up into a sitting position, despite his trembling limbs.

The room that housed him was dark and strange, but it was warm. A roaring hearth blazed in the opposite corner of the room, serving as the only source of light.

At first, Ronthil could scarcely look into the flames, his eyes sore from slumber and not yet accustomed to light. However, when his vision cleared and began to process what he was looking at, he noticed that something was leaning against the mantel, her arms folded over her voluptuous chest and her glowing amber eyes, much like the blaze beside her, stared intently at the young wood elf.

"Awake at last. You've been asleep for nearly a week," she grinned, her voice an undeniable Summerset Isle dialect which sent shivers down Ronthil's spine. He could hear the clicks of sharp footsteps on stone flooring as the woman stood away from the hearth and approached his bedside.

"Fura's going to be very disappointed, you know," she grinned as she sat at the edge of the bed, her yellow skin glowing like a setting sun in the firelight and a beautiful grin crossing her lovely face, despite the twin fangs that jutted from her smile. "She was so hoping you would die of the change and she could taste Bosmer blood… Rather rare, up here in Skyrim."

_Change_…?

She reached out her hand and petted the side of Ronthil's face. "But personally, I'm glad you pulled through… You'll make a welcome addition to our family, I'm sure."

Despite what he would normally consider a kindly gesture, Ronthil still flinched away… Her hands were as cold as the grave.

She pulled back her hand and gave almost an offended look, her face snarling a bit, before she seemed to remember herself and her expression returned to her maternal grin. She folded her hands in her lap as if in dreamy contemplation and said, "I understand. The change is quite strange at first. I remember when my husband, Vingalmo, first bestowed his embrace upon me."

"I was just a good match for Thalmor ambassador at their little embassy in Mount Kilkreath." She grinned as she watched the color drain from Ronthil's face. _That's right… He was a lad who escaped Northwatch_. She smiled before she went on. "I hated him… He was just your run-of-the-mill moneybag from Alinor."

"One night, I was out alone in the garden after a night of…" Her fiery eyes lit with what looked like a mix of disgust and anger before she smiled wider, shrugging, "Well, let's just say a night of marital bliss wasn't all that blissful with that pig."

Ronthil couldn't help but notice how the woman dug her claws into the skirt of her armor in suppressed rage. It was simply astonishing how she could keep such a composed smile after that.

"I heard somebody scream from the wall. I suppose most women would have fled in terror, but me? I ran to investigate. When I reached the stairway, I didn't need to really take step up when I found Vingalmo atop the case with his fangs deep into a soldier's neck… I tried to keep quiet when I accidentally tripped over a stone hidden in the snow."

She shuddered promiscuously as she gripped her shoulders, as if she were reliving the very moment she was describing. "Oh, I'll never forget those beautiful, glowing eyes when they regarded me and the color of blood dripping down his deep violet lips in the moonlight. One look at me, and he dropped his current prey... It didn't take long before he offered me his blood so that I may change to be like him."

There it was again! That word… _Change_. He nearly fell back as his chest ached terribly. He heard the Altmer woman giggle a bit before she rolled over to straddle the prone wood elf's waist, making him blush a deeper shade of red than blood.

Her breath was hot against his neck as she leaned over his body and hotly puffed into his ear. "I still remember how it felt to have his fangs pierce my throat. The sounds his lips made as he drained me of blood…" She stared down at the trembling wood elf with predatory hunger before licking her lips seductively. "There's really nothing more stimulating than a late-night feed."

She leaned back and began to unclasp the front of her armor, almost bursting into unbridled laughter as she watched Ronthil squirm beneath her and was able to feel his arousal between them. Her ample breasts were as gorgeous as Ronthil could have imagined (not that her revealing vampire armor left much to the imagination) but he still feared this woman… Something in her eyes made the wood elf nervous.

"I remember the very first thing I did when I changed… I killed that pig who dared to call himself my husband," she leaned forward and ran her tongue along the length of Ronthil's jugular, eliciting a pleasurable moan from the other. "Draining him dry made my body feel hot and alive… I knew that there was nothing more fulfilling in all of Tamriel… In all of Mundus! That could compare to watching pitiful mortals die under your fangs and fill yourself with their… essence…" She punctuated her point by ripping open the thin prisoner rags the boy was still wearing, revealing his small yet well-sculpted chest.

Pressing her heaving breasts down to the boy's bare chest, she grinned with wicked, sinful glee, her breath hot against the Bosmer's quivering lips. "Ally yourself with Vingalmo, and you will know this sensation... every…single…night…"

"Esme!" a voice boomed through the room, a vicious snarl underlying the call.

The woman flinched at first, reflexively covering her exposed breasts as she sat up, before she turned to find an angry Dunmer in the doorway, his hellish eyes setting daggers upon the woman as she grinned charmingly. "Well, well, if it isn't our residential alchemist… How are you this fine evening, Feran?"

"What do you think you are doing?" He ignored the Altmer woman's greeting as his voice dripped with venom, not bothering to disguise his hatred for the woman. "I told Lord Harkon that my new assistant is not to be involved in politics."

Esme emitted a wicked cackle. "My, aren't you the strict parent…" she chided before she threw her shapely legs over the edge of the bed, closing the front of her cuirass and smoothing out the ruffles in her vampire armor. She glanced back and grinned victoriously as she watched the wood elf pant, all flushed with arousal. "After all, doesn't he have a say in what he does around here?"

"I'll ask once more, Esme," his tone was harsh. "What do you think you are doing here?"

The woman's beautiful face twisted into something ugly before she cackled. "I'm just showing our new brother here the benefits of making the right friends around here. I know you hate politics, but I, for one, think that your little assistant would find himself quite happy if he befriends my dearest husband and myself."

It was Feran's turn to present his displeasure, his fangs bared to the Altmer as he hissed. "You think I'm joking, woman?! I said, he'll have no part in the court and that's final!"

She sighed in defeat as she stood upright, glaring at the Dunmer. "Fine, I get the point, Sadri. I'll leave him alone… for now." She huffed defiantly before she glanced over her shoulder to wink at the wood elf behind her. "Come find me if you get bored of the gray-skin. I trust you'll make the right decision."

As the woman sauntered past the Dunmer, Sadri hissed in a low whisper that Ronthil had to strain to hear. "…The next time I find your legs wrapped around my assistant, I'll sever them from your body and send them in a box to your 'dear husband'."

Esme merely responded by childishly poking her tongue out from between her supple lips, giggling victoriously when the dark elf emitted a low growl, before she happily skipped away.

Ronthil would have sighed with relief when he watched the woman's form disappear beyond the threshold. However, any such sound stuck in his throat when the Dunmer turned his glare to him.

"Never let me catch you alone with her again," he growled with vicious fangs exposed, making Ronthil shrink back into the bed meekly. "Or so help me, I'll use you for my next dissection project. Am I understood?"

The Bosmer nodded silently, but the vampire's glare intensified.

"I want an audible answer, boy!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" Ronthil yelped, nearly tempted to hide under the covers like some child in a vain attempt to hide from the vampire.

The Dunmer scowled at the wood elf, albeit every other angle on his dark face began to soften and calm. Folding his hands behind his back, the Dunmer circled the bed to boy's side, seating himself almost where Esme sat when Ronthil first awakened. A long moment of uncomfortable silence passed between the two before Feran finally spoke. "…What exactly did she say to you?"

"Hmm?" Ronthil blinked up in confusion before he understood. "Oh, Miss Esme…" He had to take a moment… His mind was a blur, all overshadowed with a fuzzy haze. Why couldn't he remember what the woman had said…? Was he truly so distracted by her body?

Feran observed the growing blush staining the wood elf's cheeks, when he closed his eyes, scoffing. "Typical Esme… Of course she would."

Ronthil snapped out of his trance, staring wide-eyed and curious at Feran. "What? What's typical of Esme? What did she do to me?"

"Calm down, boy," the Dunmer murmured, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. "She merely used her vampiric seduction on you. It is a talent we vampires possess to allay our victim's fears and make them more pliable to feed from. One could say Esme has become a master of such abilities…" He grinned to himself as he snorted. "I'd be lying if I had said it hasn't worked on me a time or two. Regardless, its effects should wane in an hour at the most. Sooner, if you possess a strong will…You'll become immune to her charms entirely before long."

Ronthil seemed to sigh with relief. At least those vulgar thoughts and reactions that he underwent with Esme weren't necessarily his own…

"Still," Feran's voice snapped the Bosmer back to attention. "You best be cautious. Esme is just about as conniving as her husband, Vingalmo… If not, more so. No pair is more ambitious than they, save for their rival, Orthjolf. All three are members of an inner circle of council members that advise Lord Harkon on various affairs. They'll do just about anything to garner favor with our lord, even eliminate members of the court they find…an obstacle."

Ronthil gulped to himself. There was more to fear than that vixen? How would he survive here?

"You're frightened?" Feran's face became dangerously passive; Ronthil couldn't read his expression.

"N-No…" the boy tried to lie, before he figured what was the use. The vampire was smarter than that. "Well, a bit nervous, yes. It seems rather hostile here… How will I know to act? What will I do?"

Feran's face broke into a small grin, much to Ronthil's relief. "You've naught to fear there. Didn't you hear what I said earlier? You won't be partaking in the life of a courtier. So long as you stay with me, follow my every step, and do as you're told, Esme will lose interest in you. She'll think you useless to her and her husband and leave you be. What's more, you'll be relatively safe and well-fed… So long as you remain useful to me and Garan."

"Garan?"

"Garan Morethi," Feran clarified. "He and I share similar views on politics here. While they are a fact of life here, we choose to keep out of them if at all possible. His wife, Arya, is also keen on remaining neutral, and tends to play as a guardian to those who might be caught in the crossfire of Vingalmo and Orthjolf's little feud. While you are my assistant, Garan and Arya may ask things of you as well and you are to do as they say without question. Am I understood?"

Ronthil smiled and nodded. While this wasn't the best situation he had ever found himself in, he still felt that Feran and the other two he mentioned could help him survive… and that's all he really wanted in the first place. The wood elf heaved another sigh of relief, before he suddenly felt dizzy. Again, he fell back onto the pillows, his heart twisting in his chest.

Amid his pain, he heard the Dunmer click his tongue. "Damn, you are rather weak, aren't you? I suppose that's my fault for letting you sleep for so long…"

Ronthil opened a single eye to watch as Feran lifted his sleeve and brought his wrist to his lips. Dark lips parted and bit into gray flesh; the sound of his blood spilling from its vessel was much like the sound of someone biting into a fresh peach. The vampire brought his bleeding wrist to the Bosmer's mouth in offering, which Ronthil reflexively flinched away from. However, Feran caught the other's face between two clawed fingertips, holding him still as he commanded, "Drink. It will help you regain your strength."

Fearful and left with little choice but to comply, the wood elf's lips parted and Feran pressed his wound to the boy's mouth, allowing his blood to flow over the waiting tongue. The moment he swallowed the first drop of crimson blood, Ronthil understood Esme's words earlier…

"_There's really nothing more stimulating than a late-night feed…_ _Draining him… made my body feel hot and alive… I knew that there was nothing more fulfilling in all of Tamriel… In all of Mundus! That could compare to filling yourself with their… essence…"_

With much more enthusiasm than before, Ronthil gripped to Feran's forearm, biting down hard on the wound and downing the blood with gusto. While the boy's teeth were still relatively dull for a vampire, his teeth still tore into the opened wounds, widening them and making the vampire feel the sting of his bite. His body, which had been numbed with weakness, suddenly felt like his vigor had been renewed as he took the life-giving blood into himself.

Feran's eyes widened in astonishment as he watched the wood elf happily partake in the forbidden fruit he had refused a moment before. Normally, fledglings weren't set on feeding like this until they were fully changed, but his bloodlust was great. The boy was dangerously close to beginning to drain the elder.

_Perhaps it's that seduction spell Esme cast on him…_ he thought before he shoved the boy away.

Ronthil panted as he thirsted for more. It was as if all the blood in the world couldn't sate him… But, he was brought to consciousness as Feran threw a red set of armor on the boy's lap.

"Get dressed," he commanded, gripping his bleeding forearm to staunch the wound and glaring down at the fledgling. "You seem well enough to feed like that, so you can start working tonight. When you come to court, you are to join me and not leave my side. Observe the others, but do not take their actions to heart. You are beneath them, and therefore have no need to behave like them. Am I clear?"

_Don't you mean 'above them'?_

"Yes, sir…" Ronthil nodded as he began to collect himself, but Feran sighed.

"And, enough with the 'sir'… I'm not a soldier, and hate hearing that word from worms like you," he lowered his sleeve over his wrist, Ronthil's eyes fixated on the growing red stain underneath it. "Feran will do."

"Yes, Feran…" the Bosmer amended as he watched the Dunmer nod in approval, before walking over to the chamber's door.

"I'll expect you down the steps in five minutes," he said over his shoulder. "The main hall isn't hard to find from there. Just follow the sound of idiots arguing." And, with that he, too, vanished beyond the threshold (presumably to join the aforementioned idiots in court) leaving Ronthil alone in a state of disbelief and remorse of what he had done.

He happily took to drinking the blood of a living being and enjoyed its coppery taste as if it were a rare vintage wine. Although cannibalism wasn't a stranger to being a part of his people's heritage, the practice of cooking your enemies after a battle hasn't been observed since the rise of the First Aldmeri Dominion. His stomach began to feel sick, as if the blood he just drank turned to lead in his gut.

Leaping out from underneath the covers, Ronthil rushed to the corner of the room where he found an empty chamber pot in a corner and dropped on all fours, coughing violently into the bowl. A clotted red liquid erupted with each heave as his stomach rejected the blood entirely and it burned worse with each cough.

Finally, it stopped, his stomach empty of blood and his strength slowly returning to his tremulous arms and legs supporting him. He rose up to his feet and upon a moment of scanning the rest of the room, found a small washbasin and mirror near his bed.

The cool water he splashed on his face felt wonderful on his burning skin, even taking a moment to scoop a handful to his lips and down a gulp or two to soothe his aching throat.

As he dried his face with his old prison garb, which he stripped off of his body to carry out Feran's orders to be dressed in the archaic armor set he was given, he froze as he caught his reflection in the mirror. Burning eyes, like those hellish hues that found him on the beach than horrible day, stared back at him. He yelped, nearly falling over in shock, but catching himself on the wall in front of him by slamming his palms on either side of the mirror.

Twin points were revealed from between his panting lips, now violet as if he had gone for a nude swim in the Sea of Ghosts, and his skin, which was once a soft tan, was as pale as the snow. His hands splayed out in front of him were gaunt and clawed, like the hands of some grotesque bat.

While he knew what the vampire's bite would do to him, took the monster's bargain despite the severe pain it caused, it took seeing himself this way for him to realize the truth: he really was a vampire now. What would his family say if they saw him like this? Would they scream and run? Wish him dead? Worse, would his new-self become a bloodthirsty animal and devour them all? Tears stung his bright eyes as he felt the Ronthil he was before vanish forever behind a mask of pallid flesh and violet lips.

But, Ronthil's quiet sobs were confined to the stone walls around him, showing the boy little pity or care; the echoes against them reverberating and almost mocking him. Despondently, Ronthil stepped away from the mirror and mechanically dressed himself in the red leather armor. Despite the superb fit in the finely crafted outfit, the vampire felt that he didn't belong in such a mantel… rather he belonged in the simple clothes of his homeland: the garbs that were perfect for scaling trees, shooting bows to hunt… to run and play with friends and family.

He washed his face once more in the water, which was more a dull rust color from the blood he wiped from his lips earlier, but he had to disguise his weakness to the court. If Feran's warning held any shred of truth, Ronthil took it upon himself to try and not appear weak to them... lest their predatory instincts take hold. Once he dried his face and his eyes again, he stepped to the door and closed it behind him as he left… feeling as if he should do just that with his former life: lock it away forever and move on.

* * *

**A/N: Can vampires in Elder Scrolls lore see their reflection? I know that traditionally vampires can't, but I was still a bit conflicted on this when I wrote that bit... I tried to look up the lore of Imperial Library, UESP, you name it, but didn't really find the answer I sought. So, I just went 'What the hell?' and rolled with it. **

**And, don't you all just wanna give poor Ronthil a hug? Now, review or no hugs for little Ronthil! :)**

**Edited on September 23rd 2013.**


	3. What's in the Many Names

**Author's Corner: I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to post! During the heatwave, my office was about ninety degrees all day. Sorry, but sweating in swealtering humidity does put a huge strain on my muse. **

**Anyways, this is one of those boring, but oh-so-necessary introductions chapters where I pinpoint the many OCs in this fiction. (Don't like it? Bite me...) Also, for supplemented reading, please listen to the song, "Secret" by The Pierces for a small feel of the sinister nature of the courtiers. This song was suggested to me by my sister, Stormytitan7, and it helped birth this chapter's atmosphere. **

**My thanks to all my reviewers and followers! Moonflower04, Spottedfyre, Stormytitan7, Rose from the Ashes, and Androgynous-Heron: you all rock my world! Please, enjoy the latest installment of Yesteryear.**

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Chapter Three: What's in the Many Names

Ronthil proceeded down the stairway along the corridor outside the bed chamber, slightly distracted by the ancient masonry of the stonework all around him. Just how old was this palace? He wondered to himself. It looked as if it had been frozen in the snows of the north for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years…

However, Ronthil was pulled from his musings when he halted, gripped in fear, as a monstrous roar and a pitiful scream of terror echoed through the hall, followed by a thunderous applause and cheers of approval. Gulping his heart back into his throat, the fledgling traced the sounds until he reached a smaller set of steps that led out into a grandly-lit banquet hall, where the noises grew louder.

The hall he had entered was almost cathedral-like in size and, like the rest of the castle, impressive at first glance…However, blood, both new and old, splattered the furniture, and the stench of death was strong and lingered in the air as vampires seated themselves along the long tables, either gorging themselves of still-moving humans or slicing their limbs to allow them to drain into beautifully crafted pewter goblets.

In the center of the room, a dead Breton man was being dragged away to a small alcove, which judging by the sounds emerging from it, led to the kitchens. Meanwhile, his killer, a gaunt nightmarish beast of a hound, stood victorious with fresh blood dripping down its skeletal muzzle as the courtiers cheered it on.

"…Hey, you're Feran's new assistant, right?" A woman's voice behind him made Ronthil nearly jump out of his skin. He turned about, fearful to find Esme, but much to his relief, he found a beautiful Dunmer woman clutching a goblet of blood, who had a look of concern written upon her dark face. "Are you all right, lad? You don't look well…"

Ronthil swallowed nervously, his throat dry. "I-I…I...I…!"

The woman laughed a bit before she used her free hand to pat circles in his quivering back. "Oh, poor dear… You're nervous. No need to be, _sera_." Ronthil didn't quite know why, but the woman's sweet voice with her Dunmer accent was actually a welcome sound to him, almost laughing a bit himself as the woman muttered into her goblet about how Feran should be damned for forcing the poor lad to wake up if he needed rest and that he had been through enough already.

However, Ronthil's grin faded as he watched the same two vampires who were hauling the mutilated body of the Breton, a huge Nord with a peculiar bat-like nose and a fresh-faced Imperial with pale skin and dark lips, return with a trembling Khajiit in rags. The pair brought the cat to the center of the floor, where people began to mutter to one another, no doubt to place impromptu wagers.

A scrawny balding Dunmer man with a lean, hawk nose held the hound by its black-leather collar as the beast strained against him, eager to take down its next prey. The Imperial handed the Khajiit a small iron dagger and nodded, as if to silently wish him luck, as the two retreated to the side, leaving the cat to the mercy of the monstrous dog.

The handler smirked wickedly as he watched the Khajiit tremble, clutching the small blade in two hands, poised against the dog as he took small steps back in retreat. With an encouraging, "Sic 'im, boy", the Dunmer man released his eager hound. The dog rushed at the Khajiit who in an adrenaline-fueled cry of fury threw his weapon which struck the dog in the shoulder. However, despite the wound, the beast continued its advance.

Realizing he was hopelessly outmatched and now without a weapon, the Khajiit belatedly made a circle, deciding to turn on his feet and flee for the doors. However, this only allowed the hound an opening as the beast pounced on the cat's back, effortlessly bringing the shrieking Khajiit to the floor as his throat was being torn out.

Ronthil felt stomach twist into a sickening knot as the smell of blood and guts assailed his senses and the sounds of gore splattering against the floor and bones crunching beneath vicious, snapping jaws filled his ears. All about him, vampires cheered the dog on as it feasted on the dying cat.

"I was told you already met that temptress, Esme," the woman called over the voices, hailing Ronthil's attention. "Tried to seduce you, did she?"

Ronthil lowered his eyes to floor, a heated blush creeping across his face. The woman laughed.

"Don't feel bad," she said, delivering a reassuring swat to the back. "She tries that with every fledgling…Who else have you met?"

Ronthil, his eyes still adverted, answered, "I've met Feran… He was the one who… rescued me, from Esme… And, I met a vampire on the beach… Lord Harkon, I believe."

The woman nodded. "Ah, yes… Feran told me about how our lord found you washed ashore." Her eyes fell to her feet, saddened. "You poor dear," she murmured lamentably. "I can only imagine what those Aldmeri soldiers did to you. And, mortals call us monsters…"

She shook her head as if to dispel the melancholy. "Still, that's all you've met? Well, that won't do…" She trailed off as her red eyes scanned the court room before she pointed to the other side of the room. "See the man Esme's straddling there?"

Ronthil's gaze followed the woman's finger to a giggling Esme who was sitting on a taller Altmer male's lap. The man had pale, golden skin, like aged parchment paper, and his snowy hair was pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck. His attention was consumed by the woman in his company, who was leaning into to coyly nip at his pointed ear.

"That's Vingalmo, her husband," she explained. "Vingalmo is one of the primary advisors to Lord Harkon. Esme's fiercely loyal to him, although we all know it's because she is granted a lofty status in court, being his woman. Vingalmo usually uses her to garner allies with her charms... A real snake, that one. Still, one can't deny he has charms himself, and at least he's relatively good-natured."

She pointed to a hulking Nord man with a fiery-red beard and wild hair, scowling at the pair of Altmer as he downed an entire goblet of blood before throwing it at a passing servant and demanded another.

"And, that brutish fellow there? That's Orthjolf, a classic Nord… Flaunts his physical strength, hates elves, and bullies everyone into submission… And, he is another well-trusted advisor to Harkon, making him a natural enemy to Vingalmo and Esme. In my personal opinion, he's the worst out of the three of them. If he had his way, the elven-vampires would be either personal slaves or tossed out to the sea."

Ronthil watched the Nord as a small woman with white skin and dark hair bumped into him. Although he couldn't quite hear what they were saying, he watched them exchange some words of anger. It ended with him saying something that caused the woman's jaw to drop, before she promptly clenched her fist and punched the male in the face.

The woman laughed into her drink, before she held her hand to mouth, as if to prevent herself from spitting blood as she giggled softly. "That's Fura Bloodmouth. Don't let her size fool you; she's a favorite of Harkon's when he needs somebody roughed up…And, she does so happily. She's quite the mean streak in her." She trailed off to laugh more as the pair watched Fura stomp off as Orthjolf glared at her back, holding his bloodied nose.

Ronthil blinked as he caught sight of his master conversing with another Nord woman, this one stronger built and her face covered in soot. "Who's that woman Feran's speaking with?"

The woman looked in the direction Ronthil motioned towards before her face lit up with recognition. "Oh, that's Hestla, our blacksmith. She came to us after being kicked out of that Nordic fighter's clan in Whiterun… The Companions, I believe. She wanted to grow stronger, so she offered herself to our lord and he granted her our blood. Alas, even the change didn't make her all that strong. While she's still quite a match for a human, the poor dear is well-aware that she's tragically weak for a vampire, so she smiths and uses weapons to compensate."

She paused to take another sip of blood before she went on.

"And the Dunmer you saw holding back Garmr? That's Bardhyc, the caretaker of the Death Hounds. Can't say I like the man all that much... Rather sleazy how he came up with this blood-sport theatrics, so he can get out of feeding the mongrels. The two who were providing the hounds with thralls is Ragall Thrallmaster and his assistant, Soren. Soren's pretty recent to the blood, like you."

She pointed at two vampires who were feeding on an unconscious thrall thrown atop a long dining table. "Those two wallflowers are Namasur and Modhna. Don't expect much conversation from them… Unless you happen to bring a fresh thrall with you, they typically aren't interested. Gluttonous louts…"

The woman's glowing eyes scanned the scene for a bit before she smiled warmly to a Dunmer man with long red hair pulled up into a high ponytail, a classic coiffure from Morrowind, leaning up against the stone wall with his arms folded over his chest, completely disinterested in his surroundings.

"And, that brooding but handsome man over in the corner? That's my husband, Garan Morethi," she smiled before bowed her head in introduction. "And, I am Aryalei Morethi, but most call me Arya."

Ronthil smiled. He recalled how Feran mentioned to him that Arya was someone he could trust.

"There you are," a familiar voice, sharp and solemn, called, gripping Ronthil's shoulder. The Bosmer-turned gulped softly to himself before he glanced hesitantly over his shoulder to meet Lord Harkon's fiery stare. "We've all been waiting for you to awaken…"

"Lord Harkon," the Dunmer woman curtsied with her head bowed in respect. "I was helping our new brother familiarize himself with the rest of the court."

"Well done, Arya," Harkon smiled at the Dunmer before he returned his attention to Ronthil. "And, you, lad… You've seemed to have made a full recovery since last I saw you…"

Ronthil took the man's silence as a cue for him to say something, perhaps even thank the man who converted him to vampirism for saving his life or something like that. "…Y…Yes. I feel much better now." _That's all you can say?!_ He mentally kicked himself.

However, Harkon threw his head back in a hearty laugh. "Ah, yes… This we all can plainly see. Can you not feel how much stronger you are than before? I cured you of two ailments: your wounds and your mortality." His gaze flicked over to Arya. "Arya, since you've been so kind as to introduce our friend to the court, then you wouldn't mind if I borrowed him to introduce the court to our friend?"

Arya smiled as she raised her glass a bit to him, as if to say 'Be my guest', before she walked past the two to join her husband on the other side of the room.

Ronthil watched worriedly as the Dunmer departed. Although Feran didn't warn him against this Lord Harkon, the Bosmer still felt anxious whenever he was around this man.

However, he was pulled from his worries when the voice of said man called to him. "Come with me, boy," he motioned for the other to follow him as he turned to start up the stairway Ronthil had only just descended from moments ago. "It's time we've formally welcomed you into our family."

_…Family? _Ronthil blinked, confused. He was sure that when he allowed this vampire to bite him, he would never know family again, at least as he knew it. Thinking on this made his heart ache with longing, but he quickly shook his head. No, no time for regrets now…He only nodded and turned to climb up the steps after the other.

When they reached the landing, the corridor on the right led to a small balcony overlooking the gathering hall, which Harkon stepped onto. Ronthil clung to the shadows, watching in awe as the cannibalistic coven below fell silent upon sighting their lord. With a flick of his wrist, Harkon beckoned a whimpering thrall to approach with a tray of bloody goblets.

Ronthil watched as Harkon took one from the tray and decided to follow suit as the elder vampire stood there expectantly. They both approached the banister of the overlook, before Harkon raised up his goblet to a captivated audience below, the room falling silent upon sighting of him…

"Brothers and sisters of shadow, lords of night," Lord Harkon's voice echoed throughout the castle, lingering in a faint rumble like the sounds of rolling thunder. "Tonight, a new sibling has shed the binds of mortality to walk among us as a Volkihar. He joins us as one of the few privileged to share in this ancient and powerful bloodline… Let us welcome him as one of our own, for now and all eternity, and drink to celebrate his new-found life."

Applause echoed throughout the hall as the congregation below toasted in "welcome" to the new family member. However, amid the fiery stares, Ronthil couldn't quite shake a queer sense of foreboding, as if the welcome were meant for danger looming over the fledgling as opposed to the Bosmer-turned himself…

* * *

As the two left the balcony and were descending down the stair back into the gathering hall, Feran was standing at the foot, waiting for Ronthil. The Dunmer bowed his head with respect to Harkon, before the Nord nodded knowingly, standing aside to allow the meek fledgling to advance ahead of him.

Ronthil reached his master's side, when the Dunmer immediately snatched the blood from Ronthil's hands. "None for you…" he said as he took the drink for himself.

The fledgling blinked in confusion. Weren't vampires supposed to drink blood? "Master?"

Feran glared at the other sternly, wordlessly reminding the lad of their earlier conversation about being called "master". Ronthil adverted his eyes before he corrected himself. "Forgive me, Feran… But, I thought as a vampire, one was meant to drink blood…"

The Dunmer quirked a curious eyebrow at the youth… Never in all his years had he met a fledgling like Ronthil who was so eager to feed. Regardless, he shook his head, like a father who had caught his son sipping wine at a party when other guests weren't paying attention.

"Blood sustains us, yes, and increases our life by raising our defenses against the sun and prolonging our health. However, too much feeding makes a vampire weak, lax… and quite frankly stupid. Gorging yourself will only make you like Namasur or Modhna… the wastes of flesh." He paused to grip the wrist he had bled to feed the boy at his awakening. "Besides, I need you to be able to focus. The euphoria in blood-drinking is obviously too much for you to handle at present, so I'm going to keep watch over your feeding habits. You've had your fill for tonight…"

Ronthil swallowed around a lump knotting within its throat, his eyes downcast and tracing the lines in the stonework.

Feran grinned at the boy, before dismissing him with a jerk of his chin. "Go on, now. Mingle a bit…then speak with Soren. He's the newest member of our family before you. He'll show you how things are in Castle Volkihar."

Ronthil stood upright and nodded, like a new recruit at an army camp. "…R-Right."

As he watched his master walk away to rejoin his friend, Hestla, who was chatting with Arya and Garan, Ronthil heaved a small sigh of relief, like a mouse who had narrowly wriggled his way between a cat's claws. Scanning the room about him, he figured that he may as well take up his master's advice to meet with Soren. After all that has happened, the Bosmer-turned would be lying if he said that he didn't crave a bit of companionship… And, who better to bond with than someone who was new to the change, but perhaps somewhat experienced in the perils of court?

After all, "The best techniques are handed down from the survivors." –The Golden Shinji.

* * *

**A/N: Next time on Yesteryear- You all get to meet Soren. Innocent or is there more to him than what you may first assume? **

**I loved the idea of baiting thralls to the death hounds. I knew in most castles there was some form of baiting for courtly entertainment. I figured if thralls are just cattle, then why not? **

**Mingle with the court of Castle Volkihar by reviewing your thoughts, or Bardhyc will release Garmr on my mark... X3**


	4. What Hides in Darkness

**Author's Corner: And, I'm back with a VENGEANCE! ...Er, not really. I'm just back with a new chapter for Yesteryear. So sorry this took so long! But, between work, school, personal drama, and overall computer dying on me... I really had a hard time writing. **

**But, so long as I'm here: Welcome back to Yesteryear. **

**In this installment, you get to meet Soren. He's definitely a new breed I've never really played with before, so please indulge me while I experiment with a snarky character. Please enjoy!**

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Chapter Four: What Hides in Darkness

Ronthil watched the small foyer where he had seen the Nord and the Imperial boy (evidently, Soren) had vanished into with what was left of a shredded Khajiit, anticipating them to reappear any second, perhaps with a fresh victim for Garmr's feast. However, long moments waned by and the fledgling hadn't seen either of them return.

Sighing in resignation, the Bosmer-turned returned his attention to the feast going on about him. Among the many faces, he easily spotted his master, who was chatting with Arya and her husband; along with Hestla and Fura, the latter of the two was showing her steel mace for the other's inspection. Cold dread stung down Ronthil's spine as he accidently bumped into Orthjolf, the Nord baring his fangs in anger as he snapped at the elf to watch his step. Modhna and Namasur were still noisily sipping blood from unconscious hosts, as Ronthil came to expect from them. To his relief, Esme was nowhere in sight, and neither was her mate. Impossible to miss, Lord Harkon sat at his throne, swirling a goblet of blood and staring into it as if lost in his thoughts… For someone like Ronthil, it was nearly impossible for him not to wonder what the vampiric patriarch was thinking.

However, he was instantly pulled from such thoughts when he noticed a small form literally materialize from the darkness in the corner near the doors leading outside. The un-wood elf blinked once, then twice, before his hands reached up to rub his fiery hues, unsure if he was seeing properly. Perhaps the change was affecting his brain as well as his body. However, when he looked again, the apparition remained. What's more, it began to take a more solid appearance that Ronthil almost instantly recognized: Soren.

Once the swell of shadows disperse and vanished, the small Imperial boy quickly peeked over the banister to see if anyone had noticed him before discreetly making his way to the large double doors, slipping out to the snowy night.

Ronthil stared up at the stairway, wondering if he should follow the Imperial. Part of him worried that it would get him into trouble, but another part of him- writhing with curiosity- urged him to slip past the crowd after Soren. After an agonizing moment of inner conflict, the Bosmer-turned threw caution to the wind and made his way up the stairs.

At the top of the landing, Ronthil paused and hesitantly glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed him leaving, and were perhaps in the process of stopping him. However, everyone seemed to carry on about their business, completely ignorant of his presence departing. Taking a small breath of courage, the fledgling made his way to the double doors and slipped beyond the threshold, careful that the mighty hinges made only the slightest sound when he pushed them open to the snowy air.

* * *

Ronthil had not imagined that there were so many colors in the night. Before his transformation, the nighttime sky was but a bleak ocean of inky darkness, save for the peppering of evanescent starlight that flickered weakly against the indigo depths like dying embers. However, behind his new eyes, which unbeknownst to him at the time burned like twin torchbugs in the shadows, the Bosmer-turned could not only see his surroundings as bright as a scene bathed in the midday sun, but he could also track changes in temperature around him.

Amid the crystalline snowflakes that cut through the darkness so fast that they seemed to blur, Ronthil could almost immediately detect the heat signature that trailed behind Soren's sneaking, the waves dancing up from his pursuit's footsteps like the branches of a tree in the wind. Although he wasn't entirely sure what to make of his newfound ability, the un-wood elf decided that it was something he could inquire of Soren once he had found him and followed the traces.

The trail crossed a great stone bridge from the castle and lead out to the snowy beach where Ronthil had washed ashore only a week before. Towering over the jagged stones, a lookout tower, partially crumbled with age and disuse, stood silent over the roaring waves, vigilant in its post for Divines-knows how many centuries. The fledgling could see the heat trail flow into the forsaken building; and when he stepped across the tower's stone threshold, he followed the steps up the winding stairs to the top.

As his face was reacquainted with biting winds as he stepped out onto the tower's top floor, Ronthil nearly yelped as a small blade's point found the skin of his neck.

"Why are you following me?!" Soren's voice sounded more panicked than threatening, the ebony dagger clutched in both of his tremulous hands and large hellfire eyes wide in anxiety.

Almost reflexively, Ronthil threw his hands up in truce. "Hold, friend," the fledgling gulped. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was sent along by Feran. He said that I could trust you…"

Ronthil inwardly heaved a sigh of relief as the Imperial lowered his dagger, a cloud of breath fogging the wintry air as the lad seemed to settle down.

"By the shadows! You should know better than to follow somebody without them knowing, you know?" the boy said, his voice half-relieved and half-angry as he sheathed his dagger on his belt and fell back to seat himself on the cold stone. "Especially around here. I thought Bardhyc might have sent you to toss me into the sea."

Ronthil blinked in awe as he sat down next to the other vampire, who brought his pale gaunt hands to his dark hair which stuck up in every direction possible, some strands long and others shorn nearly to his scalp. In all honesty, his hair looked like he had chopped at it himself with a rusty knife…

"He'd do that?" He asked, unable to imagine why a vampire would want to kill one of their own and was wary of the answer. "Has he done so in the past?"

Soren nodded as moved both palms from his head to the stone floor so that he could lean back on them in a lounged fashion, before he added. "He denies it, but almost everybody has tried to kill me once or twice; Vingalmo's lackeys like that old gray-skin more times than that. They say I can't be trusted."

Ronthil made a face at that. "Why would they say such a thing?"

Soren barked a curt laugh. "You think you're the first one to catch me sneaking around? I've almost perfected my signature shadow step, but I can't evade everybody's predatory senses around here. I'd have better luck evading a pack of sabre cats…"

The boy laughed at that, while Ronthil was certain that sabre cats were solitary hunters but kept that to himself. Meanwhile, Soren shook his head as he continued, "They think that it makes me a liability to their positions in court if I misuse my abilities to…" He paused as a wry grin crossed his pale and gaunt features. "…Let's say, overhear certain conversations they'd rather not have anyone else know about, especially Lord Harkon."

"Have you done so?" Ronthil asked.

The Imperial-turned thought about it a moment, deliberating whether or not to answer that, before he brought his knees to his chest and shrugged. "Maybe I have a couple of times, if I was bribed enough coin. I mostly use my abilities to get some peace and quiet when old Ragall isn't over my shoulder."

Ronthil remembered Arya pointing out Ragall earlier, a smaller Nord than Orthjolf but still bulky enough to dwarf the Bosmer-turned's small frame. "Is Ragall your master?" he asked, earning a small laugh from the Imperial.

"You're pretty talkative, aren't you?" Soren chuckled before he noticed a shamed blush crawl across Ronthil's face. "It's alright… I'm actually kind of glad that there's somebody to join us that isn't either a colossal prick that thinks they're too good to even glance my way or a self-serving bootlicker who is only interested in kissing up to Lord Harkon. It's been a while since I could talk to anyone without calling them, 'Milord' or 'Milady'…" His voice took a mocking tone as he spat up the honorifics like bad blood, before he broke out into a fit of roaring laughter.

Ronthil mirrored the Imperial's grin. He was equally relieved to find somebody he could talk to, someone who didn't intimidate him like the others did. He knew that in the grand scheme of his misfortunes, camaraderie was but a small act of mercy in his otherwise hopeless situation; however, he had learned from early on in his life that he had to take comfort in little things like this as much as he could, because it never took long for fate to catch up and make things worse...

"To answer your question," Soren said breathlessly as he wiped small tears at the corners of his burning eyes. "Yes, Ragall took me in after I got ran out of Riften's Thieves Guild when my snotty older brother, Gallus, ratted me out to the Guildmaster that I had been sneaking around Mistveil Keep. A big no-no in the Guild, because it drew too much attention to us…"

He sighed as he closed his eyes, presumably to recollect the images of that fateful night in his mind's eye. "I bumped into Ragall in the woods near Honrich, just hours before dawn. Originally, his plan was to make me a thrall, but he said he saw something in me that he found useful. He took me back to the castle and asked Lord Harkon to make me into a vampire…"

"I thought all vampire bites were infectious," Ronthil interjected, cocking his head with a puzzled expression on his face. "Why couldn't he bite you himself?"

Soren smiled as he folded his hands over his knees, shaking his head. "Don't believe that bull you learned as a mortal… Vampire bites are infectious, what with _vampiris sanguinaire _and all, but only the best of us are able to pass the true blood to the living- the blood of the original vampires, the Volkihars."

"How is that determined?" Ronthil's curiosity piqued. "Do you have to be the strongest? Or, is it the oldest vampires only?"

Soren shook his head. "It's actually pretty random. For example, of the fifty original courtiers and servants living Lord Harkon's castle when the family was granted the gift of vampirism by Molag Bal, only three were able to pass the blood, excluding the family itself. Among them were Vingalmo and Orthjolf. Later, Garan Morethi was found to be infectious as well as Fura…Other than that, the best the rest of us can do is create slavish thralls."

"Can all vampires create thralls?"

"Yes," Soren nodded. "That's how some of the baser vampires survive outside of covens. However, thanks to Ragall and me, none of us really need to practice such abilities… Most of the time, enthrallment works only on mortals and vampires are completely immune to being charmed, the exception being Lady Esme. When she changed, she was granted an extremely potent enthrallment charm by her blood. The only time I've ever seen in fail was on Lord Harkon… But, he's a breed of vampire all his own."

"You said Esme's enthrallment charm is stronger than others," Ronthil mentioned as he reviewed everything in his head. "And, you said that you have a perfected stealth spell. Are we each given the same talents? Or, are some just better at certain things than others with practice?"

"Both," Soren answered. "And neither… It really just depends on the vampire."

Ronthil remained silent as his face quirked in confusion.

Soren's own features twitched in frustration as he carded his fingers through his messy dark hair, picking through his thoughts and words… "Let me put it this way," he began, scratching at the back of his head. "I was terrible at sneaking around as a mortal; so terrible that my own family helped run me out of Riften for getting caught one too many times. But, lo and behold, I convert to vampirism, and I can vanish into thin air with a mere thought. Most of us have to acquire this ability by fasting for weeks, but I can just sneeze and- Poof!- I'm gone."

"But, that's not even all that amazing," Soren confessed, reaching up to scratch at his long nose that some might consider a tad too large for his face, but seemed to match his high and gaunt cheekbones. "In time, all of us can work up to use the embrace of shadows and mimic my shadow step with just as much ease. Even Lady Esme's enchanting allure and enthrallment can be outdone and countered if you live long enough to know how. However, some of us utilize even greater powers known only to them…"

Ronthil sat like a fascinated child listening to his grandfather recant old war stories, hinged onto every word.

"Garan, for instance, is clairvoyant. That's how he worked up to being one of Harkon's advisors despite the fact that he had only been around for three hundred years." Soren grinned as he went on. "Lady Aryalei can temporarily change her face, be anyone she'd please. Her impression of Orthjolf is the funniest thing I'd ever seen…"

Ronthil giggled, mentally noting that he should inquire that of Arya when he had the chance. He then asked, "Can Feran do anything special like that…?"

Soren paused and thought for a while before he seemed to shudder. Ronthil's grin fell in worry. "I haven't ever seen it done," Soren's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "but I hear he has a toxic bite. Ragall told me that if Old Sadri ever bit another living thing, the poor sod would drop dead in an instant. It used to drive my master crazy. Rumor has it that that's the reason he developed his famous blood potions, to serve as a substitute to drinking from a living host. Poor bastard…"

"Why do you say that?" Ronthil inquired about the last bit, his voice falling as low as Soren's although he didn't entire understand why, what with nobody around to hear them.

Soren's voice kept low, but his grin returned as he brought a hand to his face as if telling some naughty secret... which that wasn't too far from the truth.

"You know how vampire's bite to spread the blood?"

Ronthil nodded, although he was still confused as to what this had to do with Feran and his seemingly dreadful gift.

"So, if you think about it, biting is how we… procreate…"

Ronthil made a face of confusion as he mentally tried to connect the figurative dots, unable to make the connection between biting, procreation, and Feran… Soren countered Ronthil's puzzlement with a disbelieving stare.

_Is he really this naïve?_ The Imperial wondered to himself, before he decided to bring the entire conversation home by motioning for the Bosmer-turned to lean closer to him, cupping his hand near the other's pointed ear when he complied. Ronthil's jaw nearly fell agape at what he heard next.

"…It means Old Sadri can't experience vampiric sex as we enjoy it."

Suddenly, Ronthil seemed to remember Esme said to him about feeding and how it was a pleasurable feeling…

Soren went on. "Vampiric copulation is just about the same as it is for mortals with one major difference: biting and feeding from a willing host grants pleasure to the vampire. I gotta say, I enjoyed it once with a Dunmer girl named Syna… She was only with us for about three weeks before she was killed by Orthjolf. The feeling of another's blood entering your body is indescribable… Hey, what's with you? You look pale all of a sudden… I mean, paler than our pale."

Ronthil couldn't help it; before he could even think about it, he looked at Soren and shuddered, "…I think I know what you mean."

"Oh, did Esme…?" Soren snorted, brushing it off. "Ah, she'd lay with a giant if it were possible…No need to worry about your innocence, friend. It was doomed from the start with that hellcat around..."

But, Ronthil shook his head. "No… I mean to say that I drank from Feran… And, I got this weird feeling. I mean, from what I could understand of it, I was under Esme's spell, but when I drank from Feran's arm… I don't know."

This time, it was Soren who was speechless. "You… and Sadri?!"

"We didn't do anything more!" Ronthil threw up his hands defensively. "He just let me drink from him and I felt weird…But, isn't that normal from feeding?" The Bosmer-turned felt as if he had swallowed a stone as he watched Soren's face break out into a wide grin, shaking his head in feigned pity before he nudged the other's arm.

"Way to go, Ronny…" Soren chuckled as Ronthil groaned, burying his flushed face in his hands as the Imperial's laughter echoed throughout the night. "Making friends already!"

* * *

The two sat out on the tower for a few more hours: Soren, once his laughter subsided, tried to reassure Ronthil that if Feran let him feed from him solely for healing purposes, then it wasn't all that major an issue. Although he nodded along with his companion and pretended to listen to him rant on about his former life as a thief, Ronthil still couldn't quite shake a sinking feeling in his gut…

Regardless if Feran didn't feel anything or not, _he_ still felt strange- admittedly a wonderful strange. Now that he was presented with this new information about biting and feeding in vampiric copulation, how was he going to handle these feelings, and keep them contained when next he faced his master?

However, he was quickly pulled from his thoughts when he suddenly felt weak, his vision going bleary as his skin began to feel hot. To his side, Ronthil heard Soren hiss in annoyance. Meekly, he glanced to his friend and watched his pale flesh begin to smoke.

"Shit…" the Imperial's eyes screwed nearly shut as he watched a band of light push over the frozen horizon of the Sea of Ghosts. "Sunrise… We gotta get inside."

Ronthil couldn't do much but nod, as he weakly rose to his feet and stumbled down the path back to the castle. He nearly cried out in pain as his own flesh began to smolder, searing down to his bones as if he were being roasted alive. Briefly, he contemplated the irony in his once fervent belief in the mer sun god, Auriel, and now had to live in fear of the very thing he once looked to for hope.

Soren urged the Bosmer-turned on, who was slowly falling behind as the sun began to rise. "Hurry up… It's not that far. You can survive at least half an hour out here, y'know. You aren't bursting into flames or anything."

However, that's precisely how Ronthil was feeling, angry red and white blisters scalding his flesh. He nearly sobbed with relief when the pair reached the cool shadows of the gateway, and pushed open the double doors into the castle.

The banquet hall was eerily silent compared to what it had been earlier... Soren started down the stairway, grabbing Ronthil's arm and dragging him along as he yawned, "Come on, you need some sleep for those burns to heal. I'll show you where you're gonna sleep."

At the bottom of the staircase, Soren made a left to a small alchemy wing of the castle. Pain forgotten, Ronthil stared in astonishment to the hall about him. Hundreds of books lined the shelves of the bookcases on the upper tier of the room. The stocks were comprised of ingredients and potions, both common and rare and some Ronthil had never seen before in his life. It was easy to assume that a thousand years of knowledge and research lied in this room alone…

"…It's amazing," Ronthil finally muttered, Soren briefly blinking in confusion.

"What is?" He then followed Ronthil's wandering gaze, before he understood. "Oh, Feran's lab?" He shrugged as if bored. "I suppose it is. Old Sadri's spent at least the last century in here."

"When I lived in Valenwood, I always wanted to become an herbalist," Ronthil said, his voice somewhat absent in his own thoughts. "I would spend ours in the fields, identifying plants and experimenting with different mixtures. But, finding a master alchemist to apprentice for was really hard to do if you lived outside the cities and expensive for a simple family of trappers, so I never really had the chance to realize my dream…"

Soren said nothing, before he yawned tiredly… "Yeah, well… The Divine's have a funny way of granting wishes, eh? Under Sadri, you'll have tons of time fiddling with this crap…"

Ronthil's violet lips twitched into a smile, hope filling him once again.

"Well," Soren groaned as he threw his arms over his head, stretching like a sleepy cat. "We don't really have an extra coffin for you yet, so you'll have to sleep in that bedroll in the corner there. I hope you don't mind…"

"No, no," Ronthil shook his head. "It's fine. Better than sleeping on the floor of a cell…"

Soren made a face. "Uh-huh…" he blinked before he turned on his heel to follow down a hallway in the back of lab. "Well, I'm gonna turn in. Rest well, Ronny. I'll see you tonight, if Old Sadri doesn't work you to death."

"Th-Thanks, Soren," Ronthil stammered, before he grinned at Soren's back and returning his attention to the lab about him again. The bedroll that Soren had mentioned earlier was tucked between a small bookcase and the wall, and the Bosmer-turned couldn't help himself but noticing some of the books on the shelves. Some of the spines were tattered and discolored with age, and a few even bore titles that hadn't been seen in Tamriel for decades.

_Perhaps reading one of these can't hurt,_ he thought to himself, his heart fluttering in excitement. _Especially if I put it back…_ Ronthil reached out to one particular title, _Ancient Bloodlines of Vampirism: Rise of the Volkihar_, and brought it with him to his bedroll as he settled in.

He vaguely felt like he was in his boyhood, sneaking in a read when the house was quiet when he should have been asleep hours before… As he read some of the book, he found that what Soren had said to be true, about how far more potent bloodlines such as the Volkihar were and how they were the true scions of the night. Yet, as the sun began to shine outside, Ronthil felt his eyelids grow heavy as he rested the book on his chest to rest them for a while, before he breathed deeply of the dusty castle air and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Well, what did you all think of Soren? Should he be trusted? I really want to hear feedback from everyone, let me know you all are still interested!**

**Anyways, next time; we'll get to watch as Ronthil struggles to reconcile his feelings while surviving the barrage of tasks his masters sends his way. Meeting the terrible and ancient vampire, Movarth Piquine, just adds to tension in the court of Volkihar... And, just what are Esme and Vingalmo up to?**

**Also, Garan Morethi's clairvoyance was a borrowed idea from MoonFlower04's fiction and was used with her permission! **

**I promise, I'll see you all soon! Leave a review, or no more books from little Ronthil! X3**


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